A Garden of War

The Kingstower (Part IV)

Campaign: A Garden of War

17

FEB/14

Session Summary

The 6th Mace of Summer’s Rising

Old children’s toys lay strewn across the floor before the party, the remains of Attic Whisperers, children who’d lost their lives to sorrow, Taranath explained. Andriel and Asgrim tried to respond, but found themselves unable to speak. The corrupted children had stolen their voices. Unwilling to continue up the tower without Andriel’s prayers or Asgrim’s tales, the group decided to wait out their afflictions.

The hallway toward the stairs was cluttered with a hastily built barricade of dressers, chairs, armoirs and chests, so the group cleared a path while Cahal took wing to investigate the fire’s progress. It had begun to storm outside, but the tower still burned, higher than before, and now the whole field surrounding the spire was crawling with zombies and skeletons, clad in ruined elvish garb. He flew upward to get a count of remaining floors to the tower, 3 floors. The druid also noted that the night had progressed further than he’d thought, time would indeed be a factor in the ascent. They would be racing against the dawn

The priest and bard regained their voices and the group continued higher. At the top of the stairs stood a grand double-door. Several members put their ears to the doors to listen beyond, Cahal thought he heard the faint sound of music. That grabbed Asgrim’s attention, so the bard listened intently and soon agreed. Not only was there a song playing, he added, but the notes were the same as those the broken soul Lillendsong had plucked on her harp. This time however, the melody was played in 3 and 4, the cadence of a waltz.

The party opted to open the door rather than bust it down with Cyric’s “key”, much to the dwarfs disappointment. The doors opened with a moan. None heard a sound nor spotted any signs of life, or unlife. Before them loomed a massive hall, with a intricate wooden dance-floor, rotten with age. The group moved through the hall slowly, back to back. The faintest whisper of a song was suddenly audible and growing louder by the beat. Andriel prayed to Dimaeria and channeled energy to defeat what was certainly a manifesting haunt. The cleric guessed right, just before his blast, swirling ghosts appeared in pairs, dancing, reaching out to their throats with malicious intent. Andriel’s faith proved stronger and the ghostly mists were dispersed by holy light. With a sigh of relief, they continued onward.

The next floor they found the tower’s aviary, where their massive bird-mounts could be kept. Andriel searched for an impressive saddle, but everything in the storerooms had disintegrated with age. The storm raged on outside, as thunder and lightning battled around them.

The group took the next flight of stairs to exit into open air. They stood on a balcony of sorts, where the tower shrank in diameter but still continued upward for several more stories. The cleric was halted by a memory… this was the place from his dream, and inside those doors would be the elf-king. There too would be his father. Without a roof over their heads, the group could see the storm in all of it’s power. It seemed to be swirling around the tower somehow. Below, the forms of a thousand fallen elves shone in flashes of light to disappear into the darkness in an instant. The party cast defensive wards, said their prayers, regaled past hero-isms, and scribbled on note-cards. They were prepared for what stood beyond, or so they hoped.

The doors opened into a large hall, the personal audience chamber to the king. Along massive stone pillars, stood a troop of skeletal guards, still as stone. Behind them, undead priests reached for the unholy symbols about their necks. Andriel’s eyes locked on a form he knew to be his father’s, twin swords at his hips, standing dutifully near dias, a pair of thrones atop it. A staircase rose to either side of the dias, atop which stood several skeletal archers, and a rotten sorcerer with worms for eyes. But looming over them all, at the top of the stair, stood Ladorian Elf-King, in the most beautiful and terrifying armor they’d ever seen. Hanging from a chain about his neck, the cube spun violently, emitting a bright blue light.

An epic battle ensued, in-which Andriel was nearly slain by his father’s zombie, only to have his soul eaten by the cube, activated by the Elf-King. The fight continued on, but eventually Ladorian and his minions fell, and Andriel’s soul went back into his body, the party reviving him as the tower rumbled.

Realizing they only had a few seconds to spare, the group quickly healed and through various methods (bird-flight, levitation, dimension door) managed to escape the tower’s top as the spire crumbled to the ground, the undead army below, crushed by the falling stones!